


Wide Eyes and a Cynical Heart

by how_about_no



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Class Issues, Crack, Disney World & Disneyland, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Money, Paris (City), Poor Louis, Poor Niall, Poor Zayn, Rich Harry, Rich Liam, Sherlock References, Slow Build, Slow Burn, im gonna try make this fic long wish me luck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/how_about_no/pseuds/how_about_no
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis lives in a deprived area, never having really had anything more in his life, and writes a blog to vent his problems on.<br/>Harry is young, innocent, rich and wanting to be independent and learn more about the world.<br/>They meet in the middle.</p><p>or</p><p>The one where Louis is poor and cycnical, Harry is rich and romantic, they teach each other things they didn't know and fall in love along the way. Plus Niall and Zayn are closer than they should be, and Liam thinks he's Mycroft Holmes.</p><p>----------------UNDETERMINED HIATUS-------------------</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wide Eyes and a Cynical Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be my first really long fic! Wish me luck y'all, and let me know what you think!

Grit crunches under Louis’ worn shoes, some scraping its way through the soles so the tiny stones scrape against his bare feet. With a shiver, he buries his rough, calloused hands further into his hoodie pockets, cursing British weather and its freezing tendency. His fingernails are jagged and sharp when he idly runs his thumb over each one on his right hand. It would be a good idea to file them, but Louis doesn’t have the patience for that so he just slips his hand out of his pocket and nibbles at the edges, trying not to cut his lip in the process.

Louis’ a fidget. Even when walking, he has to be doing something with his hands. Once he’s done gnawing at his fingers, he fiddles with a hole in his jeans. People seem to assume it’s for fashion, a purposeful mistake, when in reality it’s from the amount of times he’s fallen over while giving Niall or Zayn a piggy back. It means he doesn’t have to buy new jeans so Louis plays along until they literally fall apart and he has to nip into Primark to buy more.

His reflection is dirty in the window outside of Tesco. Louis runs his fingertips over the bags under his eyes and sighs, wishing his mattress was softer, less lumpy, so he could get more sleep and feel less haggard 24/7. Even with the laughter lines and bags, at least Louis’ hair is on point. He throws himself a wink before walking into the shop, fiddling with the change in his pocket and budgeting mentally.

Snacks are easy. It’s simple to find some cheap crisps and biscuits, maybe some cake, for really cheap. He has about three quid, which is a lot considering the amount he spent this week because of having to buy a coat for winter and some underwear.

First, he looks for the sales. Usually around the bakery section there are near gone off pastries or cakes for 79p that could keep the group he has to feed happy. He finds some blueberry muffins that would feed a few for 85p and picks them up, inspecting for imperfections. They look good enough so Louis strolls to the biscuit isle, lighting up like a Christmas tree when he sees some digestives, two for a pound.

“Brilliant.” He mutters to himself picking two packs up and inspecting his haul. £1.15 left. If there’s some Pepsi on sale Louis’ sure he could get one for a pound. He slips his phone out of his pocket, checking the time and purses his lips. He has 10 minutes to get there before Zayn starts offering the kids at the club weed. It’s almost tempting to pray that there’s some cheap drinks but Louis’ not one for God as he hasn’t done him any favours.

“Shit.” No sale.

He quickly runs to the checkpoint and breathes a laugh when he sees there’s no one in the queue. He throws his stuff down in front of the bored looking teenager. The boy looks at least 18 and is fairly cute so Louis puts on his best smile.

“£1.85 please.” The boy doesn’t smile back so Louis just huffs and picks through his shrapnel until he finds the right change.

“There you go,” Louis grabs his stuff and hugs it to his chest. 5p bag, no thanks, “Keep the receipt.”

The boy doesn’t respond apart from a roll of his eyes, rude, so Louis scurries out of the door and jogs the few streets to the little bingo club turned youth club building he spends half his time in.

It’s a small building with graffiti all over it, mostly Zayn’s doing, and a few cracks in the misty windows on the front. The door creaks in warning as Louis opens it but he swings it back anyway, smiling when he sees everyone gathered around Zayn as he sprays on the wall, his black hair perfectly styled and his eyes intense as he stares at the heart he’s drawing.

“As you can see,” Niall says, in an incredible David Attenborough impression, from his perch on the counter near the back of the dingey room, his legs swinging, kicking the counter, “The wild Zayn expresses his feelings through crudely drawn art, sprayed on a shitty building’s wall.”

“Language,” Louis scolds, “You know our youngest is 9, right?”

“Louis!” Lottie shouts, jumping up from where she was staring longingly at the back of Zayn’s head, “Please tell me you brought snacks.”

“Of course I did.” Louis scoffs, putting down his things on the counter next to Niall, then thinks again and slides it to the other side so the human hoover can’t reach as easily.

“The flamboyant Louis protects his prey,” Niall turns to him with a gleeful smile, “Fearing the power of the mighty Niall Beast.”

“Niall,” Zayn doesn’t raise his voice but the other boy’s head snaps in his direction immediately, “Come look at this, it’s your arse upside down.”

“Wonderful!” Niall squeals and runs over, leaving space for all the kids to come get some biscuits.

Louis loves doing this. He loves putting smiles on kids’ faces when things in their lives may not be too great. The whole ‘Youth Club’ thing started when Louis was 19 and found himself homeless, kicked out by his mum because he wasn’t paying rent and not enough money to find somewhere else to live. He was sleeping outside of this very building with a blanket and nothing to his name when Mrs Thomas came to open up for the bingo club.

She helped Louis up with a small smile and invited him in with the promise of tea and breakfast. It wasn’t long until Louis lived in there, sleeping on the sofas and having breakfast with Mrs Thomas when she came in. He started a blog, started writing stories, and sold them online for alright money but it still wasn’t enough to get him back on his feet.

That’s when Louis noticed kids hanging around on the street outside, clueless as to what to do with their time without guidance.

“I want to start a Youth Club.” Louis had said one day over tea and biscuits around noon, and Mrs Thomas’ grey eyebrows rose to her hairline.

“Here?” She had asked sceptically and Louis knew it might as well have been a no.

“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking, but it could be nice? The kids round here don’t have a community, they don’t have somewhere they can be themselves without judgement or- I guess- their parents.”

“Okay,” Mrs Thomas had started to smile, “I’ll give it a chance.”

Here Louis is 5 years later watching his little sister and a gaggle of teenagers squabble for the better looking biscuit.

Nothing makes him happier.

They play a few games, throwing a ball around then stopping when Louis gets hit in the face and no one owns up to it, though Niall laughs louder than the rest of them. They snack, and talk, and have fun. It’s always like this, being around the kids, Louis seems to have a nack for making them feel comfortable and like they belong.

“Hey, Louis?” One of the kids stops before going out of the door, Jacob, 14. He’s got dark skin and buzzed hair, his clothes old and tattered, a sight Louis is used to seeing round here. Jacob isn’t really loud or confident in the group, he mostly laughs at other people’s jokes and stays out of the way, though it doesn’t really surprise Louis that he has stopped to talk. Louis takes pride in the fact that he has a bond with all of the kids individually.

“What’s up?” Louis frowns down at the boy, sensing his discomfort because of the shuffling of his feet and clenched fists.

“Some kids on my road have been throwing rocks and stuff at my house and I don’t really know what to do,” He stares resolutely at the ground, “They’re scaring my mum and they’re scaring me. I want to tell them to stop but I think they would just start throwing rocks at me instead.”

“Listen,” Louis crouches so he’s on eye level with Jacob. He doesn’t have to crouch far as he’s already pretty short, though if anyone asked he’d just say Jacob is tall, “What you should really do is call the police, but also don’t show them that you’re scared. Kids like that want a reaction, Jake, don’t give them one. Just call the police and put on a brave face.”

“What if they find out it’s me that called?” Jacob looks at him, his eyes glassy.

“You can say to the person on the phone that you don’t want them to know who called and they will keep it a secret. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jacob nods, “Thank you.”

“No problem, bud.” Louis smacks him on the shoulder on his way out and makes sure he watches the boy until he’s out of sight.

“Let’s go get fucking pissed!” Niall yells, pulling a bottle of Lidl vodka out of his old backpack with a raucous laugh.

“Let’s.” Louis rolls his eyes and locks up behind them as they leave.

 

“All I’m saying is that the government needs to get their shit together, you know?”

“I know, Niall.” Zayn murmurs, walking with an easy stride even with a grown man nearly falling asleep on his back.

“It’s disgusting.” Niall’s head lolls as he drones on about the shitty benefits system and lack of support for anyone not rich or white.

“I think he might’ve had too much.” Louis whispers conspiringly to Zayn with a smirk, watching drool slowly gather in the corner of Niall’s mouth.

“We’ve only been walking for 15 minutes.” Zayn sighs, holding up the half empty vodka bottle. Louis kicks his foot, feeling the grit roll around inside his shoe. It’s pretty late and Louis is exhausted, but usually he and the boys go sit in the park and talk after the club so they can get drunk together before having to go back to their crap, dark, and damp apartment. Well, Niall is supposed to live with his mum and the apartment is essentially Louis and Zayn’s, but the boy may as well live there because he practically never leaves.

“Let’s go home.” Niall sucks up his trail of drool and Zayn doesn’t even flinch.

“Alright, babe,” Zayn looks to Louis, “Can he just stay the night?”

Louis can’t say no to that face, “You’re going to have to start paying rent, you know.”

“No I’m not.” Niall smiles, his eyes still closed. They’ve only known each other for a few years but Niall knows Louis far too well. He was actually the first member of the youth club, flouncing in with a flyer, brandishing it like a sword and shouting ‘Where the youths at?’. He moved from a member to a helper a year ago when he turned 18. The guy still has braces for God’s sake, Louis couldn’t make him do anything that put him to difficulty, never mind make him pay rent for somewhere he doesn’t officially live.

Zayn is a completely different story. He has always been quiet, contemplative and sweet. They were friends before Louis got kicked out, having gone to school together since primary. Zayn would’ve taken him in if Louis had gone to him instead of running away to another town. Eventually Zayn left home and bought an apartment where Louis had gone, without actually knowing he was there. They bumped into each other in Asda a few months after Zayn moved in and Louis was moving in with him a few weeks later.

Now they have a shitty little flat in the nicer part of Bilton where they won’t get their windows smashed in and belongings stolen. It’s small and dirty, but it’s home. They’ve had some good memories there, like when they had a Harry Potter movie marathon/drinking game which ended with them waking up to Niall being missing. Zayn nearly had a heart attack until they heard a snore from the bedroom, only to walk in and see Niall curled up, asleep on top of the wardrobe.

There was also the time they adopted a cat. Louis had been writing all day, tapping away on his old computer, ready to upload his blog post only to have a grey cat crawl across his keyboard and settle on the counter.

“Excuse me.” Louis had said, the cat merely flopped onto its side in reply, “Zayn!”

“Yes!” Zayn skidded into the room, shirtless and confused, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, “Is there a fire?”

“No,” Louis frowned in confusion, “But there _is_ a cat.”

“What?”

Long story short, they gave the cat to Mrs Thompson because the found posters did nothing to help. Now it hangs around the Youth Club building, occasionally coming in when the kids are there and immediately running away when one of them points it out in delight.

Money is a difficulty, jobs are scarce in this area, and family is hard to keep a hold of, but it’s nice. It’s _home._

They eventually get to the apartment building and Louis taps in the code, having to push harder on the 8 because it’s sticky with something Louis doesn’t want to know. Zayn’s struggling now, huffing slightly as he adjusts Niall, completely asleep, on his back.

“Just wake him up,” Louis pushes open the metal door with his hip and holds it as Zayn passes him to the stairs, “He can walk up some stairs.”

“Nah,” Zayn struggles to say, “I’ll let him sleep.” He rolls his eyes when Louis makes a whip sound and starts the trek up the stairs. They’re cold, even through Louis’ shoes, but he’s kind of used to it because of having to go downstairs barefoot to get the post.

“Race you.” Louis waggles his eyebrows and starts running, his feet quickly going from step to step, sometimes skipping one, two or three. He reaches to top ages before Zayn and leans on the banister, inspecting his nails.

“Not-” Zayn pants, “Not fair.”

“What isn’t fair, darling, is how amazing I am.” Louis raises an eyebrow and swishes his hips overdramatically the rest of the way to the door.

“Open it.” Zayn groans, bending his knees to ease the weight a little.

“You know what I’ve never noticed?” Louis drawls, “How much detail there is in the crappy paint on this door. Look at that? Is that a paintbrush hair?”

“Louis.”

“Alright, alright,” Louis unlocks the door and swings it open, cringing when it hits the wall. He always forgets it hits the wall, “Put the princess to bed.”

“I’m going to bed too.” Zayn yawns, “Fucking knackered, innit.”

“You’re such a chav.” Louis snorts, throwing his keys down on the table.

“You’re aware you’re wearing all Adidas right now, right?”

“It’s called fashion!” Louis yells to Zayn and Niall’s retreating backs.

Louis’ about to go join them and get a decent night’s sleep, but the half full bottle of vodka on the counter is too alluring, too tempting to drown his non-existent sorrows. He unscrews the cap and really contemplates just drinking it straight like Niall had, but doesn’t think he’d be able to stomach it, and certainly not in the morning.

There’s a can of diet Coke in the fridge that looks perfect. He pours a generous amount of vodka into a glass, then tops it off with half the can of coke. The apartment is dark and small, and Louis looks around in distaste, wondering when his life went so wrong. He throws the glass back, downing it in one, then fills it up again and does the same.

After about half an hour of pouring and drinking, and getting more and more buzzed, Louis deems it time for bed. He tries to put the glass on the counter but misses completely and it goes smashing to the ground.

“Bummer.” Louis slurs, narrowing his eyes at the glass on the floor. He decides it’s a problem for sober Louis and clambers into Zayn’s bedroom, not wanting to be alone. He crawls between them and closes his eyes, chasing away images of a life before all of this.

 

“I feel like shit!” Niall groans turning over so his face is inches away from Louis’.

“Niall,” Louis wrinkles his nose, “What the fuck did you eat? You smell like shit.”

“Don’t be mean, Lou,” Zayn scolds, reaching out his arm and hitting what he thinks is Louis’ head but in reality is the pillow above it, “Go brush your teeth, Niall.”

“Fine.” Niall grumbles, slowly getting out of the bed, “Might throw up while I’m there.”

“Do it,” Louis closes his eyes again and snuffles into the pillow, “Go wild.”

Louis’ plan to go back to sleep is so close to being fulfilled when his alarm goes off. He scrambles to pick it up and sees that it says ‘BLOG POST’ on the screen. He didn’t even realise it was Sunday. With a yawn, he gets up and stretches, looking behind him to see that Zayn is already out like a light. Louis has always been jealous of Zayn’s skill of falling asleep no matter where he is. Though sometimes it’s inappropriate, like that wedding.

Louis doesn’t really want to think about it.

 

 

_Good morning, people._

_I feel like I have revealed a lot about myself over the years of this blog, and for those that have been here a while, you probably know more than you wanted to when you came here. I’d like to think it has been informative and helpful, when in reality it is probably more you all laughing at my pain like a blogwriter version of Dan Howell._

_One of my main topics of helping or informing, or providing morbid entertainment, has been my coming out experience and general life as a gay man in a not-so-gay community. As well all know, I grew up in a working class area, and still live in one though it is probably more deprived. My family didn’t have a lot of money, so most people turned to religion for some sort of hope or hobby or whatever those people used as their excuse._

_Because of their beliefs, obviously I assumed I would not be accepted in my community because I liked my variety of lovers in a manner more similar to how I liked myself. My best friend of the time, Stan, was very close with my family and the church community, and he was the first person I wanted to tell when I figured out who I was._

_This is the story of Stan._

_We had been best friends since primary school, him having taken a shining to me when I ‘pantsed’ his sister as everyone was required to wear trousers for money saving’s sake. He didn’t value family like I did, always running away to live in the park for a while, ensuring me his family didn’t even notice and he was fine. We were as close as any two people could be without literally being inside each other, which I had a phase of wanting, don’t you worry._

_When I figured out I liked bulges more than I like curves, if you know what I mean, the first person I prepared the break the news to was Stan._

_We were sat in the park one day, two days into his 13 th runaway mission, when I finally plucked up the courage. I had brought some red bull for him, knowing it was his favourite and he’d be nicer to me if I said something he didn’t like._

_“Stan,” I had said, nervous as anything, my hands shaking, clammy, like I got when I knew I was about to get beaten up, “I have to tell you something.”_

_He obviously told me to ‘Go ahead’, relaxed, leaning against a tree and scratching his stomach like he had no care in the world._

_“I’m gay.”_

_That was the first time I said it out loud. You’d think I’d practise in the mirror, pretending to be talking to a family member or friend, preparing a speech so I could do it right. Instead I had stayed awake at night, fretting, telling myself that if I wing it I’ll find it easier._

_Stan’s attitude didn’t change, the air didn’t shift, and nothing became tense or heated. He just looked at me with raised eyebrows and a tilted mouth._

_“And?”_

_I let out a breath, like I had forgotten to breathe the whole time. If anything, I remember being quite insulted. It would’ve been appreciated to at least get a shocked expression, a gasp, a frown. I felt stupid and put down by the fact that I had been preparing myself for nothing, that I had been preparing myself for an ‘And?’._

_“And?” I had said, “That’s all you’ve got?”_

_Stan just shrugged, still looking at me with some confusion._

_“I knew.”_

_Of course he had known. Looking back, I see my striped shirts, the braces (suspenders for you Americans), the limp wrist and love for singing. Stan knew me more than anyone else, so how could he have not known that? He probably knew before I did, and that’s the best thing. I remember smiling, looking at him in the sun, the wind whistling through the trees above us._

_He didn’t smile back. Stan closed his eyes and tilted his head back, basking in the rare good weather we had in this godforbbiden country._

_That was the only time we really talked about it, nothing really changed._

_But I could be open. I could point out a cute boy and Stan would tell me everything he knew about him, like he did with girls before. A weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and for that short time between coming out to my best friend and coming out to the world, I was free._

_I was happy._

_If you’re in this position, if you aren’t sure, just do it. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Rejection is simply the world sifting out the people who aren’t worth your time, whether they’re your friends, your parents, your aunts, uncles, it doesn’t matter._

_‘Those who matter don't mind, and those who mind don't matter.’- Bernard Baruch_

_See you next week!  
Tommo_

The post is just done uploading, and Louis takes the last sip of his cup of tea. Some people hate working immediately in the morning, but it wake Louis up, prepares him for the day. It’s only really Sundays and Wednesdays though, Louis doesn’t think he’d be able to do it every day as he needs a lie-in every so often.

He started the blog when he had nothing to do at Mrs Thomas’ during the day. There was a dusty old computer in the study hidden away in the back of the building, and Mrs T said Louis could use it if he wanted. After a few days of feeling too guilty to use it because Louis was already taking so much from the poor women, he finally booted up the dinosaur.

It was slow, bad quality, the keyboard stuck and the mouse acted up most of the time, but it was something to do.

So Louis started to write.

He wrote little stories, posted them online, and got some nice feedback. Not many people saw his stuff, but the people who did were incredibly positive, and Louis began to enjoy creating these little worlds in his head. It was a nice escape from his.

One day, someone commented ‘You seem like such an interesting person!’, leaving Louis sat there, staring at the screen, wondering if he is, and if he could put that on the internet too.

Remaining anonymous, his mum taught him internet safety, Louis started writing about his life. He told funny anecdotes, gave advice, made fun of himself. It was a big surprise to wake up one day and find his inbox teaming with messages from people, asking questions about his life, wanting to know more.

After that his followers went up and up, continuing to rise even to this day. It’s not overly impressive, certainly not in millions, but he has a little community. There are people who read his bi-weekly blog posts and occasional stories and like them. Some of the same people comment and give him an ego-boost every once in a while, and it feels like he has a nice relationship with the people that follow him.

One of the main topics he ended up writing about was his coming out, how it went wrong and how it went right, how he lives his life now. People seem interested in what he has to say and it’s a good feeling. Having people come to Louis for advice is a huge compliment, and he’s glad he gets to do something he fell in love with and make a bit of money from it with ads and sponsors.

“We’re off to the shop.” Zayn strolls into the living room (which connects to the kitchen, dining room and porch. Like Louis said, it’s a small flat), Niall trailing behind him like an excited puppy.

“Buy some eggs.” Louis nibbles on his thumb, watching the views on his post go up and waiting for comments.

“Will do.”

“Hey,” Niall runs over and looks at the screen over Louis’ shoulder, “Blog post?”

“Yeah, shorter than usual.” Louis shrugs, trying to be nonchalant but loving the excitement radiating from the boy behind him.

“Sick! I’ll read it when we get back,” Louis looks back at him and Niall waggles his eyebrows, “I’ll make pancakes.”

“Don’t spend too much, kids.” Louis looks between them with his well-practised and perfected parent face. He raises his eyebrows slightly and makes sure to have a both stern but calm glint in his eyes. It works on Niall, but Zayn is the defiant child, always chatting back.

Louis did _not_ raise him that way.

“Sure, mum.” Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Watch your sass, boy, or I’ll cut your allowance.”

“Fuck off.” Zayn scoffs and starts walking towards the door again, knowing Niall will quickly scurry to his side.

He does.

“Have fun!” Louis shouts as the door slams.

He busies himself tidying away his things and washing his mug. While he does so, he things about what stories he could write as he hasn’t posted one in months. Everything feels too fantastical or difficult to do a short story on. It isn’t that Louis doesn’t have any ideas, it’s that he has too many, and they’re all big ideas. He wanted to write one about a corrupt government, have it be political and empowering, but he just doesn’t have the strength to carry out such a big project.

Then there was the idea about werewolves in his hometown, with great characters and dynamics, but he just couldn’t get the plot right.

He needs a short story, one with edge and interest, but not too complicated that it would take him years to finish and a book to fill.

Writer’s block is one of the worst things that plagues Louis’ mind most days.

Just as he’s putting the kettle on to make another cup of tea out of boredom, there’s a light knock on the door, in the rhythm of ‘pop goes the weasel’. Louis hasn’t ordered anything, nor does he owe anyone money or pissed them off. Round here, people don’t visit each other, apart from Doris the floor above.

Louis loves Doris. She makes cookies.

Back to the matter at hand, someone is at the door.

He flicks the kettle off, not wanting the noise to cause any awkward ‘What?’s or ‘I can’t here you’s. The handle’s a little stiff so Louis has the yank the door open and nearly falls over. When he recovers, he looks up to see a literal cherub standing in his doorway.

“Hi there!” The Cherub says cheerfully, grinning ear to ear with dimples the size of craters on the moon in his cheeks.

“Um,” Louis looks him up and down, “Hi.”

The boy has pale skin and dark hair, curled around his ears, longer than Louis’ but not unkempt. He has a polo neck on, tucked into beige khakis. Louis raises an eyebrow at his loafers, wondering if this guy got lost on his way to the golf club. He doesn’t look any older than 19, but these are the clothes of a forty year old man with a lot of money and a bad marriage. Also, he clearly does not have a sense of fashion if he is wearing a black polo neck with beige khakis. Go all black, or don’t bother.

“You’re the first one that’s answered the door.” Then Louis notices his voice. It’s chocolatey, deep, and definitely not from around here. This kid is well-spoken, like, private school well-spoken.

Louis just opened the door to a rich cherub who plays golf and has bad fashion sense. Brilliant.

“I am?” Louis can’t really form proper sentences right now, too absorbed in the shock of the fact that a commercial for a middle aged couples’ spa resort is standing in front of him.

“Yeah,” The boy laughs, a lovely, light sound, “I guess no one likes upside down apple cake.”

“You have cake?” Louis looks in the boy’s hands and sees he’s holding a foil tray with cling film over the top.

“I think that’s what you’re meant to do with new neighbours.” He bats his eyelashes, casting shadows over his cheeks. Louis doesn’t know how that’s even possible, he’s pretty sure the lights in that corridor don’t even work.

“Neighbours?” Louis raises his eyebrows, trying to calculate how long the kid will last if he’s walking around looking like that.

“Yes!” The boy’s smile comes back full force, like the Grinch when he realised he wanted to steal Christmas, “I’m Harry Styles, I just moved in next door.”

“Harry Styles,” Popstar name, two weeks at best, “I will happily take that cake off your hands.”


End file.
